UC-NRLF 


B    3    bfifi 


Overfie 

Garden 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 
CALIFORNIA 
SANTA  CRUZ 


OVERHEARD  IN  A  GARDEN 


bp  ©lifcet  |)crforti» 


A  CHILD'S   PRIMER  OF  NATURAL  HISTORY. 

Illustrated  by  the  author.     Small  410.     $  1.25. 

THE  BASHFUL  EARTHQUAKE.    With  many  illus- 
trations by  the  author.     12010.     $1.25. 

Altogether,  Mr.  Herford's  drollery  is  a  boon.  He  is 
worthy — and  this  is  saying  much  —  of  the  traditions  of 
Edward  Lear  and  Lewis  Carroll.  His  nonsense  is  in 
sympathy  with  their  nonsense.  —  The  N.  Y.  Tribune. 


CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS,  Publishers. 


Overheard 


Ay 

OliverHerford 


YORK  •  Published  by 
Charles  5cribrverj  5oas 


Copyright,  zpoo,  by 
OLIVER  HERFORD 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS  .   JOHN  WILSON 
AND   SON    .    CAMBRIDGE    .    U.  S.  A. 


35-15 


CONTENTS 

I    OVEKHEAED  IN   A  GARDEN 

PAGE 

TELL-TALE 1 

GOSSIP 4 

A  HOPELESS  CASE 5 

THE  FALL  OF  THE  ROSE 9 

SCANDAL 10 

THE  QUARREL 12 

A  BUTTERFLY  OF  FASHION 15 

A  SYMPHONETTE 19 

II    NOT  IN  THE   GARDEN 

MOON-STRUCK 27 

A  CALENDAR  OF  DISCONTENT  : 

SPRING 28 

SUMMER 29 

AUTUMN 30 

WINTER 31 

LESE  MAJESTE" 33 

A  DECADENT        34 

LOVE  AND  TIME 35 

A  TRAGEDY  IN  RHYME 38 

A  NEW-YORKER 42 

THE  PLAGIARIST 47 

A  BUTTERFLY  GIRL 49 

v 


PAGB 

THE  MISSING  LINK    ...>"' 50 

THE  STRIKE 53 

A  LITTLE  CHAPTER  ON  SPORT  : 

PIG-STICKING 60 

THE  FOX-HUNT 61 

A  DEER-HUNT 62 

COURSING 63 

III    BUBBLES 

A  PLEA 66 

TOAST  AND  WATER 66 

DUM  VIVIMUS 67 

ON  THE  BRINK 67 

To  A  GIRL 67 

MEMORIES 68 

NIL  DESPERANDUM 68 

To  A  CHAPERONE 68 

Two  OUT  OF  TIME 71 

CUKTAIN  CALLS 

THE  EXPLANATION ,  87 

THE  WANDERING  JEW 88 

HORACE 90 

JONAH 92 

LADY  MACBETH 94 

GODIVA 96 

DESDEMONA 98 

EVE 100 

CLEOPATRA  .                                  ...  102 


I 

OVERHEARD 
in  a  GARDEN 


CT*HE  Bubble  winked  at  me  and  said, 
•*    "You  'II  miss  me,  brother,  when  you  're 
dead." 


TELL-TALE 

THE  Lily  whispered  to  the  Kose  : 
"  The  Tulip  9s  fearfully  stuck  up. 

You  'd  think,  to  see  the  creature's  pose, 
She  were  a  golden  altar-cup. 

There  's  method  in  her  holdness,  too; 

She  catches  twice  her  share  of  Dew." 
1  1 


The  Eose  into  the  Tulip's  ear 

Murmured:   " The  Lily  is  a  sight; 

Don't  you  believe  she  powders,  dear, 
To  make  herself  so  saintly  white  ? 

She  takes  some  trouble,  it  is  plain, 

Her  reputation  to  sustain." 

Said  Tulip  to  the  Lily  white : 

"  About  the  Eose  —  what  do  you  think  ?  - 
Her  color  ?  Should  you  say  it 's  quite  — 

Well,  quite  a  natural  shade  of  pink  ?  " 
"  Natural !  "  the  Lily  cried.   "  Good  Saints ! 
Why,  everybody  knows  she  paints !  " 
2 


3 


GOSSIP 

THE  news  around  the  garden  flew : 

Last  night  the  Rose  was  robbed  —  A  flower 
Was  filched  from  her  and  flung  into 

The  casement  of  my  Lady's  bower. 

The  flowers  were  mystified.     In  vain 
They  asked  of  one  another,  "  Pray, 

What  ails  our  Lady  of  Disdain 
That  she  must  wear  a  Rose  to-day  ?  " 

The  Daisy,  with  her  latest  breath, 
'Reft  of  her  petals,  whispered  low, 

"  It  is  a  secret  to  the  Death  ; 
I  gave  my  petals  all  to  know" 


A  HOPELESS   CASE 

HER  sisters  shunned  her,  half  in  fear 
And  half  in  pity.     «  'T  is  too  bad 

She  is  not  made  as  we  —  poor  dear  !  " 
(Four  leaves  instead  of  Three  she  had.) 

Said  Doctor  Bee :   "  Her  case  is  rare 
And  due  to  Influence  prenatal. 

To  amputate  I  would  not  dare, 
The  operation  might  be  fatal. 
5 


"  With  Rest  and  Care  and  Simple  Food 
She  may  outlive  both  you  and  me ; 

A.  change  of  scene  might  do  her  good." 
(One  hag  of  Honey  was  his  fee.) 

"  Take  me  !  take  me!  "  the  clovers  cry, 
To  a  maid  bending  wistful-eyed. 

With  gentle  hand  she  puts  them  by, 
Till  all  but  one  are  passed  aside. 

Before  her  sisters'  wondering  eyes 
Her  leaves  with  kisses  are  told  over. 

"  At  last!  at  last!  "  the  maiden  cries, 
"I've  found  you,  little  four-leaved  clovei 
6 


THE  FALL   OF  THE  ROSE 

HAT  the  First  Bee  sang,  who  knows 
When  he  tempted  the  First  Eose  ? 
Some  such  tale  the  Flowers  believe, 
As  the  Serpent  told  to  Eve. 
Only  this  the  Eoses  know : 
Petals  once  as  white  as  snow 
To  a  burning  crimson  grew, 
As  her  Loveliness  she  knew. 
Then  it  was  a  leaf  she  took 
Out  of  Eve's  own  fashion-book ; 
And  from  Eden's  mosses  wove 
An  apron  chaste.     In  vain  she  strove, 
For  in  that  veil  of  emerald  lace 
The  Moss  Eose  found  an  added  grace. 
9 


SCANDAL 

FOB  all  the  Morning  Glory's  airs, 
She  has  the  instincts  of  a  Weed; 

To-day  I  caught  her  unawares 
Kissing  a  Squash  —  I  did  indeed. 

"But  don't  repeat  it,"  said  the  Kose, 
Then  told  the  Pink,  who  told  the  Bee, 

Who  said,  "I  '11  see  to  it,  it  goes 
No  farther."     Then  he  told  it  me. 


10 


Said  I,  "  It  is  a  shame,  O  Bee  ! 

To  circulate  such  arrant  Bosh; 
And  if  it  'a  true  —  it  ?s  plain  to  see  — 

You  're  only  jealous  of  the  Squash." 


11 


THE   QUARREL 

THE  Laurel  started  the  affair, 
Calling  the  Rose  a  vain  coquette. 

The  Rose  replied  she  did  not  care 

What  people  thought,  outside  her  set. 


" Faith,  you  speak  true!  "  the  Laurel  cried, 
4 '  Roses  and  Laurels  only  meet 

When  on  the  Hero's  head  we  ride, 
And  you  are  tossed  beneath  his  feet." 
12 


The  Rose  retorted,  "I  could  name 
More  than  one  Hero  who  threw  down 

His  precious  Laurel  wreath  of  fame 

For  just  one  Rose  from  Beauty's  crown.77 


The  Laurel  frowned,  "  7T  is  as  you  say, 
And  yet  it  cannot  be  gainsaid, 

Their  Laurels  are  undimmed  to-day 
Save  by  the  Folly  of  that  trade.'7 
13 


Your  reasoning  's  false!  "  exclaimed  the  Rose, 

"  Your  premises  are  falser  yet ; 
Your  sentiment  is  all  a  pose ! 

Besides  —  you  are  not  in  my  set ! " 


MORAL 


'Twixt  Duty,  here  helow,  and  Love, 
Alas  !  we  see  a  great  gulf  fixed ; 

Perhaps  they  ?re  Introduced  Above, 
In  Heaven,  society  is  mixed. 


14 


A  BUTTEKFLY  OF  FASHION 

A  REAL  Butterfly,  I  mean, 

With  Orange-pointed  saffron  wings 
And  coat  of  inky  Velveteen  — 

None  of  your  Fashion-plated  Things 

That  dangle  from  the  Apronstrings 
Of  Mrs.  Grundy  —  or  you  see 

Loll  by  the  Stage  Door  or  the  Wings, 
Or  sadly  flit  from  Tea  to  Tea. 

Not  such  a  Butterfly  was  he; 

He  lived  for  Sunshine  and  the  Hour; 
He  did  not  flit  from  Tea  to  Tea, 

But  gayly  flew  from  Flower  to  Flower. 
15 


One  Day  there  came  a  Thunder  Shower  — 

An  Open  Window  he  espied. 
He  fluttered  in;  behold,  a  Flower  ! 

An  Azure  Rose  with  petals  wide. 

He  did  not  linger  to  decide 

Which  Flower  ;  there  was  no  other  there. 
He  calmly  settled  down  inside 

That  Eose,  and  no  one  said  "  Beware  !  " 

There  was  no  Friend  to  say,  "  Take  care  !  " 
How  ever,  then,  could  he  suppose 

This  Blossom,  of  such  Color  Bare, 
Was  just  an  Artificial  Rose  ? 

All  might  have  ended  well  —  who  knows  ?  — 
But  just  then  some  one  chanced  to  say : 

"  The  very  Latest  Thing  !     That  Rose 
In  Paris  is  the  Rage  To-day" 

No  Rose  of  such  a  Tint  outre 

Was  ever  seen  in  Garden  Bed ; 
The  Butterfly  had  such  a  Gay, 

Chromatic  Sense,  it  turned  his  head. 
16 


"  The  Very  Latest  Thing  ?"  he  said; 

"Long  have  I  sighed  for  something  New  ! 
O  Roses  Yellow,  White,  and  Red, 

Let  others  sip ;  mine  shall  be  Blue  I " 

The  Flavor  was  not  Nice,  't  is  true 
(He  felt  a  Pain  inside  his  Waist). 

"It  is  not  well  to  overdo," 
Said  he,  "a  just-acquired  taste." 

The  Shower  passed  ;  he  joined  in  haste 
His  friends.     With  condescension  great, 

Said  he,  "I  fear  your  time  you  waste; 
Real  Roses  are  quite  out  of  date." 

He  argued  early,  argued  late, 

Till  what  was  erst  a  HARMLESS  POSE 

Grew  to  a  Fierce,  Inordinate 
Craving  for  Artificial  Kose. 

He  haunted  Garden  Parties,  Shows, 

Wherever  Ladies  Congregate, 
And  in  their  Bonnets  thrust  his  nose 

His  Craving  Fierce  to  Satiate. 

2  17 


At  last  he  chanced,  sad  to  relate, 
Into  a  Caterer's  with  his  Pose, 

And  there  Pneumonia  was  his  Fate 
From  sitting  on  an  Ice  Cream  Rose. 

0  Reader,  shun  the  Harmless  Pose. 

They  huried  him,  with  scant  lament, 
Beneath  a  Common  Brier-Eose, 

And  wrote : 

HERE  LIES  A  DECADENT. 


18 


ALLEGRO 

WHY,  oh  why 
Do  you  sigh, 

Violets  ? 
On  joyful  wings 
The  hlackbird  sings 

Chansonettes. 
Now  spring  is  here, 
Old  winter  drear 

He  forgets. 
19 


THE   VIOLETS  : 

He  may  sing, 
He  can  fly 
On  his  wing 
To  the  sky. 
We  must  stay, 
Live  and  die, 
Here  alway, 
In  this  wood, 
Misunderstood. 
Oh  to  fly! 
We  are  nigh 
Sick  to  death 
Of  the  trees 
And  the  vines, 
And  the  breath 
Of  the  pines 
In  the  breeze. 


ii 

ALLEGRETTO 

Change  of  scene. 
Gone  the  sad 
Woods  of  green. 
20 


Beneath  the  glad 
Electric  sheen 
Of  Broadway, 
Violets  gay 
Take  their  way 
To  the  Play 
In  a  bouquet. 


in 

SCHERZO 

Madcap  Play, 
Merry  strife, 
Chorus  gay, 
Viol,  fife. 
Hip,  Hurray  ! 
This  is  life  ! 

Fairy  scene, 
Flash  of  gauze, 
Pink,  now  green, 
Wild  applause  — 
She  comes !     The  Queen  ! ! 
21 


THE  VIOLETS: 

Hark)  she  sings  / 
Oh,  ecstasy! 
Oh  for  wings  / 
Oh  to  fly! 
For  the  bliss 
Of  one  kiss 
We  could  die  ! 


Breathless  flight, 
Swift  as  light, 
Oh,  rapturous  night ! 
They  'light,  they  rest, 
Tranquil,  serene, 
Upon  the  breast 
Of  the  Elf  Queen. 


ADAGIO 

THE  VIOLETS: 

Tossed  aside, 
None  to  care. 
Where,  ok,  where 
Shall  we  hide  ? 

Fitful  glare, 
Deserted  street, 
Blank  despair ! 
A  sound  of  feet ! 

Oh,  tired  feet ! 

Will  they  spurn  ? 

They  retreat, 

They  pause  —  they  turn  ! 

Face  flower-pale, 
Clasp  flower-frail, 
Kisses  that  burn 
And  chill  by  turn. 
Eyes  dim  with  pain. 

VIOLETS : 

Whence  that  warm  rain  ? 
23 


INTERMEZZO 

"  Nay,  tempt  not  Fate  ! 
>T  is  not  too  late  ! 
We  die !     But  you 
May  live  anew. 
Ah,  do  not  wait ! 
JT  is  not  too  late 
Yet  to  retrace 
And  turn  aside, " 
The  Violets  cried, 
Close  to  her  face. 

FINALE 

Time  has  flown. 
In  a  glade 
Violet-strewn 
Sings  a  maid 
Soft  and  low. 
In  the  glade 
Where  they  grow, 
Bending  so 
Very  near, 
The  Violets  hear 
And  they  know. 

24 


II 

NOT   IN   THE   GARDEN 


-& 


MOON-STBUCK 


I  WATCHED  the  moon  let  down  her  hair 

In  ripples  on  the  sea. 
She  loosed  each  diamond  pin  with  care 

And  stuck  it  carefully 
In  the  dark  pin-cushion  of  sky. 

"Ah,  now"  I  said,  "I  know  the  why 
And  wherefore  of  the  stars. 

I  always  used  to  think  at  night, 
To  see  them  shine,  they  were  the  light 

Of  seraphim's  cigars. 
Now  I  have  learned,  and  none  too  soon, 

They  are  the  Hairpins  of  the  Moon." 
27 


A  CALENDAK   OF  DISCONTENT 

SPRING 

Too  well  I  know  you,  Spring,  and  so  restrain 
My  foolish  muse  from  all  such  flatterings  vain 
As  "  mild"  and  "  gentle  "  —  lest  I  be  repaid, 
Even  as  Marsyas  of  old,  and  flayed, 
This  time  by  icy  hail  and  cutting  sleet. 
Instead  — I  pray  your  going  may  be  fleet, 
That  soon  I  may  forget  and  drowse  away 
My  weariness  beneath  Dear  Summer's  sway. 
28 


SUMMER 


INSUFFERABLE  season  oi  the  Sun, 

When  will  your  endless  reign  of  fire  be  done  ? 

When  will  your  noisy  insect  court  take  flight  ? 

Your  orchestra  that  rests  not,  —  day  or  night ; 

Your  armies  with  unconquerable  stings; 

When   will    they   flee— what    for    do    they    have 

wings  ? 

How  long  before  brave  Autumn,  with  a  shout, 
Will  succor  me  and  put  them  all  to  rout  ? 
29 


• 


AUTUMN 

You  dismal  mourner,  wailing  by  the  bier 
Of  Summer  dead,  with  lamentations  drear, 
Driving  me  frantic  ever  and  anon, 
With  reminiscences  of  Summer  gone,  — 
Now  mimicking  her  tenderest  airs  and  tones, 
Now     harrowing    me    with    horrid    shrieks    and 

groans,  — 

Were  good  old  jolly  Winter  only  here, 
I  'd  soon  forget  you  and  your  evil  cheer  ! 
30 


WINTER 

HOARY  impostor  !  with  mock  jovial  air, 
You  took  the  green  earth  prisoner  unaware, 
And  pinioned  the  trees  that  moan  and  call 
To  Spring  to  free  them  from  your  icy  thrall. 
You  manacled  the  stream,  who  tugs  in  vain 
To  loose  himself  from  your  relentless  chain. 
And  I  —  my  heart  is  sad,  my  lyre  is  dumb; 
Mild,  Gentle  Spring,  —  oh!  will  you  ever  come! 
31 


32 


LESE  MAJESTE 

THE  Lion  ramps  around  the  cage, 

The  Lady  smiles  to  see  him  rage. 

The  little  Mouse  outside  the  bars 

Looks  on  and  laughs*     "  Well,  bless  my  stars  !  " 

Quoth  he,  "  to  think  they  call  that  thing 

The  King  of  Beasts  !    If  he  's  a  King, 

Who  cannot  make  the  Lady  wince, 

What  must  /  be  ?     When,  not  long  since, 

Inside  the  cage  I  chanced  to  slip, 

You  should  have  seen  that  Lady  skip 

Upon  the  Lion's  back.     '  Help !  Murder ! 

A  Mouse!'    she  screamed;  you  should  have  heard 

her! 

And  then  with  brooms  the  keepers  came 
And  drove  me  out  (but,  all  the  same, 
I  got  the  crumb  that  I  was  after). 
A  King  indeed !     Excuse  my  laughter !  " 


33 


A  DECADENT 

REALITIES  to  Him  are  Cold  and  Stern. 

He  loves  from  Nature's  Crudities  to  turn 
To  the  Sweet  Unrealities  of  Art 

And  all  Her  Tinkling  Symbolism  learn. 

For  Him  there  is  no  Rose  at  the  Fleuriste 
Vies  with  the  Rose  of  Crgpe  of  the  Modiste 

And  Paradise,  without  a  Milliner 

He  vows  would  be  unutterably  Triste. 


34 


LOVE  AND  TIME 

LOVE  stole  Time's  hour-glass  one  day 

(It  happened  he  was  out  of  hearts), 
And  set  it  up  beside  the  way, 

To  be  a  target  for  his  darts. 

At  length  but  one  of  all  his  quiver 

Kemained  (some  glanced  and  some  fell  wide) ; 
He  shot  the  last  —  Time  saw  it  shiver 

His  glass.     "What  have  you  done  ?  "  he  cried, 
35 


In  vain  Love  pieced  the  broken  parts. 

The  sand  would  not  run  true,  alas  ! 
Cried  Time :   "  Confound  you  and  your 
darts ! 

Now  I  must  get  another  glass.77 

So  ever  since,  to  mark  his  shooting, 
Love  kept  the  glass  that  Time  refused. 

And  lovers  ever  since,  computing, 

The  hours  with  minutes  have  confused. 


36 


37 


A  TBAGEDY  IN  KHYME 

THERE  was  a  man  upon  a  time 
Who  could  not  speak  except  in  rhyme. 
He  could  not  voice  his  smallest  wish, 
He  could  not  order  soup  or  fish, 
He  could  not  hail  a  passing  car, 
He  could  not  ask  for  a  cigar,  — 
And  let  a  rhymeless  sentence  mar 
His  speech.     He  could  not  vent  despair, 
Anger,  or  rage  —  he  could  not  swear, 
38 


He  could  not  even  have  his  say 
On  common  topics  of  the  day. 
The  dreadful  cold  —  the  awful  heat, 
The  rise  in  coal,  the  fall  in  wheat, 
He  could  not  rise  to  give  his  seat 
In  crowded  car  to  maiden  sweet, 
Or  buy  a  paper  in  the  street,  — 
Except  in  measured,  rhyming  feet. 
"  He  must  have  been  a  man  of  means ! 
In  this,  the  age  of  magazines !  " 
I  hear  you  say.     Ah,  reader,  wait 
Till  you  have  heard  his  awful  fate. 
You  will  not  then  expatiate 
Upon  his  fortune.  — 
39 


Well,  one  night 
A  burglar  came,  and  at  the  sight, 
The  rhymester  took  a  fearful  fright. 
The  only  avenue  for  flight 
Was  up  the  chimney ;  here  he  climbed 
Until  he  stuck,  and  then  he  rhymed 
As  follows:  — 

"  Goodness  gracious  me  1 
I'm  stuck  as  tight  as  tight  can  be  ! 
Oh,  dear,  1  'm  in  an  awful  plight. 
I  cannot  budge  to  left  or  right, 
Or  up  or  down  this  awful  chimney  t  " 
Then  he  was  stuck ;  had  he  said  "  Jimm'ny !  " 
It  would  have  saved  him  many  a  pang. 
But  no  !  he  could  not  stoop  to  slang. 
In  vain  he  writhed  and  racked  his  brain 
For  rhymes  to  u  chimney.7' 
40 


&RJ! 


^ 


It  was  plain 

He  had  to  rhyme  —  for  should  he  cease 
He  must  forever  hold  his  peace. 
He  tried  to  shout,  he  tried  to  call. 
The  truth  fell  on  him  like  a  pall. 
There  is  n't  any  rhyme  at  all 
To  "chimney."  — 

When  they  searched  the  room 
They  found  it  silent  as  a  tomb. 
For  years  they  advertised  in  vain 
They  never  heard  of  him  again. 


A  NEW-YORKER 

"  Breathes  there  a  man  with  soul  so  dead 
Who  never  to  himself  hath  said, 
1  This  is  my  own  my  native  land  '  ?" 

WALTER  SCOTT. 


THE  man  of  whom  I  sing  was  not 
Cast  in  the  mould  of  Walter  Scott. 

Van  Hatton  Jones  O'Rorke 
Sighs  never  for  his  native  loam; 
Where'er  his  feet  may  chance  to  roam 
He  feels  about  as  much  at  home 

As  in  his  own  New  York. 
42 


Says  he,  "No  matter  where  I  go, 
From  Baffin's  Bay  to  Borneo, 

From  Kandahar  to  Cork; 
From  pole  to  pole,  from  sea  to  sea  — 
No  matter  where  on  earth  I  be  — 
Something  I  find  reminding  me 

Of  little  old  New  York." 


In  Switzerland  ?t  is  his  delight 
To  sit  upon  an  Alp  at  night, 

"Because/7  as  he  explains, 
"The  avalanches  I  adore, 
As  down  the  mountain  side  they  pour. 
They  call  to  mind  the  fitful  roar 

Of  elevated  trains." 
43 


''y\l  The  Indian  jungle,  dank 

and  dim, 

A  fascination  has  for  him; 
He  is  not  scared  at  all 
To  see  a  fearful  tiger  spring, 
But  claps  his  hands  like  anything 
And  makes  the  silent  jungle  ring 
With  cheers  for  Tammany  Hall. 

In  Hong  Kong  —  in  Jerusalem  — 
He  weeps  with  joy,  for  each  of  them, 
Freighted  with  memories  sweet; 
44 


The  one  with  almond  eyes  and  cues, 
So  too  the  other  with  its  Jews 
The  recollection  fond  renews 
Of  Mott  and  Baxter  Street. 


45 


On  Nicaragua's  riven  rocks, 

Furrowed  and  rent  by  earthquake  shocks, 

He'll  gaze  the  livelong  day. 
For  in  their  chasms  deep  and  wide, 
With  earth  torn  up  on  either  side, 
He  can  not  but  recall  with  pride 

His  own  dear  old  Broadway. 

E'en  as  I  write  there  comes  to  me 
A  letter  (dated  Ashantee) 

Telling  of  his  decease. 
"A  savage  tribe"  the  letter  saith, 
•' (  With  cruel  clubs  beat  him  to  death,  — 
Exclaiming  with  his  latest  breathy 

1  How  like  our  brave  Police  I 


46 


/  THE  PLAGIARIST 


CLUSTERS  of  grapes  on  a 

lofty  tree ; 
Pooh  !  "  said  the  Fox, 

"  too  sour  for  me  !  " 
Just  then  an  inspiration 

came 
On   a   low   branch   he 

placed  his  name. 
Happening  soon  a  Crow 

to  spy, 
"  Nice  grapes  ! "  he  cried. 

"Miss,  won't  you  buy?" 
Said  she,  "I'll  buy,  and 

pay  you  well, 
Only,  first,  prove  they  're 

yours  to  sell." 
"No  fear!"    he  cried, 

"  behold  my  name !  " 

MORAL 

No  grapes  too  high  for  some 
to  claim  ! 

47 


48 


A  BUTTEKFLY  GIRL 

THEY  tell  me  I 
Am  like  (oh,  my  ! 
I  wonder  why) 
A  butterfly! 

/  cannot  fly ! 
No  wings  have  I. 
And  butterflies 
They  are  not  wise 
As  I,  who  say 
My  ABC 
(As  far  as  K) 
Fast  as  can  be ! 

I  cannot  see, 
How  it  can  be, 
I  cannot  guess, 
Unless  —  unless  — 
May  be  —  why,  yes ! 
He,  too,  like  me, 
Loves  so  to  press 
His  little  nose 
Into  a  rose. 
49 


THE  MISSING  LINK. 

There  was  chattering  and  jabbering  and  bellowing 

and  growling ) 
And  the   sound   of  many  waters   and  of  many 

creatures  howling, 

As  the  voices  of  creation  all  were  lifted  up  together 
In  a  universal  chorus  —  "  Did  you  ever  see  such 

weather  ?  " 

BESIDE  the  rail,  despite  the  gale, 

Old  Noah  took  each  ticket, 
And  registered  each  Beast  and  Bird 

That  passed  inside  the  wicket. 

And  when  at  last  they  had  made  fast 
As  much  as  they  could  stow  away, 

He  cried  "  Let  go !  cut  loose !  yo  ho  ! 
Hoist  gang!  avast!  heave  ho  —  away!" 

With  heave  and  yank,  up  came  the  plank, 

A-straining  and  a-creaking, 
When,  rising  o'er  the  wind  and  roar, 

They  heard  two  voices  shrieking,  — 
50 


"  Take  us  aboard  !    You  can't  afford 

So  cruelly  to  flout  us ! 
We  are  a  pair  extremely  rare ; 

No  ark  ?s  complete  without  us." 

Down  went  the  gang,  and  up  there  sprang 
Before  them,  through  the  curtain 

Of  blinding  rain,  the  oddest  twain, 
Of  genus  most  uncertain. 

They  'd  human  shape,  yet  like  the  ape 

Were  caudally  appended ; 
And,  strange  to  tell,  their  feet  as  well, 

Like  apes',  in  fingers  ended. 

Quoth  Noah,  "  Pray,  who  are  you  —  say? 

Human,  or  anthropoidal  ?  " 
"  You  takes  your  choice  !  "  as  with  one  voice 

They  cried;  which  so  annoyed  all 

The  apes  on  board  with  one  accord 
They  screamed  for  indignation  ; 

?T  was  very  clear  they  would  not  hear 
Of  any  such  relation. 

Said  Noah,  "  Though,  you  're  rare,  I  know 

You  're  not  for  my  collection  ; 
And  though  not  vain,  I  must  refrain 

From  claiming  the  connection. 
51 


With  small  regret,  the  pair  he  set 
On  shore  mid  cheers  and  hissing, 

And  that 's  the  way  it  conies  to-day 
The  MISSING  LINK  is  missing. 


52 


THE   STRIKE. 


ONE  Mr.  William  Thingum  Tite, 

His  young  wife's  patience  sorely  tried; 

She  called  her  boy,  as  well  she  might, 
UNTIDINESS  PEESONIFIED. 

Whene'er  he  went  to  bed 

at  night, 
He  never  put  his  things 

away, 
But  tossed  his  clothes  to 

left  or  right, 
And  where  they  fell 
He  let  them 
stay 


Now,  worms  are  not  the  only  folk 
That,  when  exasperated,  turn. 

Clothes,  too,  will  turn  (that's  not  a  joke), 
As  from  this  narrative  you  '11  learn. 


One  night,  when  Mr.  William  lay 
Wrapped  in  the  arms  of  Morpheus, 

His  clothes  a  meeting  held,  that  they 
Their  sad  condition  might  discuss. 


The  Koll  Call  first  of  all  was  read, 

And  when  ?t  was  found  that  all  were  there, 

Since  he  came  nearest  to  the  head, 
To  Derby  Hat  they  gave  the  chair. 


"My  Fellow  Garments  !  "  he  began, 
When  every  one  at  last  was  still, 

"  Let  us  put  down  the  tyrant  man  !  " 

As  with  one  voice  they  cried,  "  We  will !  " 


"  He  calls  himself  Creation's  Lord, 
But  were  it  not  for  me  and  you, 

What  would  he  do  ?  "    With  one  accord 
The  meeting  cried,  "  What  could  he  do  ?  " 


"  How  could  he  go  to  ball  or  hop, 

Or  even  walk  the  avenues  ?  " 
"  Why,  but  for  us  he'd  have  to  stop 

At  home,  of  course ! "  exclaimed  the  Shoes. 
55 


"  Supposing,  on  the  street,  perhaps, 

He  met  a  lady  that  he  knew  — 
How  could  he  how  ?  "    The  Hats  and  Caps 

Shouted  in  unison,  "That >s  true!  " 

"  How  could  he  even  offer  her 

His  hand  in  saying,  *  How  d  'ye  do  '  ? 

You  know  to  whom  I  now  refer!  " 

"  We  do ! "  exclaimed  the  Gloves.    «  We  do ! " 


"  And  what  is  more,  if  we  were  not 
Good  Form,"  concluded  Derby  Hat, 

"  How  ever  from  the  common  lot 

Could  he  be  told  ?    Now  tell  me  that!  " 


A  Resolution  then,  proposed 
By  Oxford  Shoe,  and  seconded 

By  White  Cravat  (no  one  opposed), 
Was  passed  —  and  this  is  how  it  read : 

Whereas,  one  William  Thingum  Tite, 
Has  shown  himself  for  clothes  unfit, 

Whereas,  we,  Undersigned,  this  night 
Are  painfully  aware  of  it ; 


Whereas,  said  William  never  pays 

Us  the  attention  that  we  like  ; 
Resolved,  unless  he  mend  his  ways, 

We,  Undersigned,  His  Clothes,  will  strike  ! 
57 


The  Resolution  being  framed, 

And  signed  and  sealed  that  very  night, 
A  deputation  then  was  named 

To  wait  on  William  Thingum  Tite. 

When  William  rose  next  day  he  wore 
A  somewhat  sad  and  thoughtful  air. 

Picking  his  clothes  from  oft  the  floor, 

He  smoothed  them  out  with  greatest  care. 

You  would  not  know  young  William  Tite 
If  now  he  chanced  to  meet  your  eye  ; 

He  is  a  vision  of  delight  ; 

He  keeps  a  valet, —  that  is  why. 


58 


A    LITTLE    CHAPTER 
ON    SPORT 


PIG-STICKING 

OH,  see  the  Boar  dash  through  the  Brake ! 
He  knows  good  Sport,  and  no  mis-take  ! 
Ah  !  now  he  turns  and  kills  a  Dog. 
He  is  a  Vicious,  Brutal  Hog  ! 
He  has  the  temper  of  a  Rat. 
But  soon  they  '11  give  him  tit-for-tat. 
My  Child,  this  teaches  how  Unwise 
It  is  to  let  your  Temper  rise. 
60 


THE    FOX-HUNT 

OH,  Fox,  you  've  had  a  merry  run. 
In  all  the  world  there  's  no  such  fun 
As  over  Fields  and  Fences  free 
To  chase  a  Sporty  Fox,  and  be 
First  at  the  Death.     In  Wood  or  Field 
What  can  more  Healthy  Pleasure  yield 
Than  this  ? 

What  say  you,  Curlylocks  ? 
WTell,  no !  —  perhaps  not,  to  the  Fox ! 
61 


A   DEER-HUNT 

THE  Hunters  Horn  sounds  Bright  and  Clear ; 
The  Hunters  raise  a  merry  cheer. 
But  why  is  Mr.  Stag  so  Sad  ? 
Sport  is  a  thing  to  make  one  Glad. 
He  seems  about  to  shed  a  Tear, 
Just  when  the  Height  of  Sport  is  near. 
If  he  can  swim  a  few  Strokes  more, 
I  fear  that  he  will  gain  the  Shore, 
And  then,  if  he  should  get  away, 
The  Sport  is  Ruined  for  To-day. 
62 


COUESING 

THE  Hare  is  off,  he  does  not  lag ! 

He  's  glad  to  leave  the  stuffy  Bag, 

And  play  a  little  game  of  Tag. 

Will  the  Hare  win  ?     Oh,  not  at  all. 

He  cannot  go  beyond  that  wall. 

Ah,  now  he  7s  caught !  Why  does  he  Squeal 

So  very  loud  ?     He  makes  me  feel 

Quite  Queer! 

The  Hare,  my  Child,  is  Short 
Of  Brains.     He  does  not  know  it  ?s  Sport. 
63 


o 


G 


Ill 

BUBBLES 


A  PLEA 

GOD  made  Man 

Frail  as  a  bubble ; 
God  made  Love, 

Love  made  Trouble. 
God  made  the  Vine, 

Was  it  a  sin 
That  Man  made  Wine 

To  drown  Trouble  in  ? 


TOAST  A:NTD  WATER 

HERE  7s  to  old  A.dam's  crystal  ale, 
Clear,  sparkling,  and  divine. 
Fair  H20,  long  may  you  flow  ! 
We  drink  your  health  (in  wine). 
66 


BUM  VIVIMUS 

YESTERDAY'S  yesterday  while  to-day's  here, 
To-day  is  to-day  till  to-morrow  appear, 
To-morrow  7s  to-morrow  until  to-day 's  past, 
And  kisses  are  kisses  as  long  as  they  last. 


ON  THE  BKINK 

IF  all  your  beauties,  one  by  one, 
I  pledge,  dear,  I  am  thinking 

Before  the  tale  were  well  begun 
I  had  been  dead  of  drinking. 


TO  A  GIKL 

HERE  's  lovers  two  to  the  maiden  true, 
And  four  to  the  maid  caressing, 

But  the  wayward  girl  with  the  lips  that  curl 
Keeps  twenty  lovers  guessing. 
67 


MEMORIES 

KISSES  tender,  kisses  cold, 
Kisses  timid,  kisses  bold, 
Kisses  joyful,  kisses  sad, 
Pass  the  bowl  or  I  '11  go  mad. 


NIL  DESPEKANDUM 

DON'T  die  of  love ;  in  heaven  above 
Or  hell  they  '11  not  endure  you ; 

Why  look  so  glum  when  Doctor  Bum 
Is  waiting  for  to  cure  you  ? 


TO  A  CHAPEKONE 

HERE  's  to  the  chaperone, 
May  she  learn  from  Cupid 

Just  enough  blindness 
To  be  sweetly  stupid. 
68 


TWO   OUT   OF  TIME 


TWO  OUT   OF  TIME 

TIME.  —  A  mixture  of  the  Fifteenth  and  Nineteenth  Centuries. 
SCENE.  —  A  Forest.     Large  tree  at  centre.     At  foot  of  tree 

remains  of  small  picnic  spread — half  emptied  champagne 

glasses,  white  cloth,  etc.,  etc.    Faint  music  whenever  Shepherd 

speaks. 

PERSONS  : 

CORYDON. — A  Shepherd  of  the  Fifteenth  Century. 
MADELEINE.  —  Leading  Lady  of  the  Pinero  Theatre. 

(Sound  of  the  Shepherd's  pipe  in  distance  and  approaching.) 

(Enter  CORYDON  playing  on  pipe.     He  stops  playing,  stretches 

his  arms,  and  yawns.) 

COKYDON. 

Where  can  they  be  —  my  sheep  ?  I  must  have  slept 

A  moon  at  least,  that  they  have  strayed  so  far. 

A  murrain  on  them  !     If  I  had  but  kept, 

The  while  I  was  asleep,  one  eye  ajar, 

I  would  not  now  be  wondering  where  they  are. 

(  Yawns.) 

Alack  and  well-a-day  !     I  feel  so  drear 
As  I  had  been  asleep  a  hundred  year, 
And  I  have  such  an  emptiness  inside 
71 


As  tho7  I  ?d  eaten  naught  since  Christmastide. 
I  feel  as  empty  as  —  what  shall  I  say  ?  — 
As  a  wine  jug  to  him  who  hath  no  pay, 
Empty  as  empty  benches  at  a  play, 
Or  as  the  heads  of  silly  sheep  that  stray. 

(Looks  about  in  wonder.) 
Whence  came  this  mighty  forest  that  I  see  ? 
"When  I  lay  down  to  sleep  there  was  no  tree  — 
72 


Can  it  have  sprung  up  in  a  single  night  ? 
(Pauses.     Then  with  terror.) 
God  grant  I  be  not  some  accursed  wight 
Who  lying  down  one  night  upon  his  bed 
Awoke  to  find  that  centuries  had  fled. 

(Sees  sheep's  skull  upon  ground.     Picks  it  up.) 
Good  Saints !  'T  is  true  —  and  centuries  have  flown. 
Of  all  my  flock  is  left  but  this  poor  bone. 
Alas,  poor  Rameses  !  I  loved  you  well. 
How  oft  I  've  listened  for  your  distant  bell ; 
How  oft  I  ?ve  heard  your  bleating  on  the  plain. 
Alas,  I  ne'er  shall  hear  you  bleat  again. 

(Emotion.) 

In  sooth  there  's  no  more  joy  in  life  for  me, 
I  '11  lay  me  down  and  die  beneath  this  tree. 

(Crosses  to  tree.     Sees  picnic  spread.     Starts.) 
Now,  by  our  Lady!  what  may  this  thing  be  ? 
Marry,  a  feast ! 
(Kneels  down  and  picks  up  champagne  glass  half 

full.     Tastes.     Is  amazed.) 
A  feast  for  gods  —  the  devil ! 

(Drops  glass. ) 

Sure  Jt  is  the  scene  of  some  unholy  revel 
Of  elves  or  fairies,  witches,  imps  of  hell. 
(Tastes  another  glass.) 
73 


Beshrew  me,  though,  this  witch's  hrew  tastes  well. 

(Drains  glass  —  smacks  lips.) 
Urn!  That  was  good.     It  hath  a  wondrous  spell. 
I  vow  that  though  the  price  of  it  were  hell, 
One  soul  per  drink, 

(Drinks.) 

One  drink  per  soul,  methinks 
I  'd  pawn  a  score  of  souls  for  more  such  drinks. 
(Drinks  again.) 


-#• 


(Enter  Madeleine, 
dressed  in  modern 
shooting    costume, 
gun,  etc. 
Cory  don  starts.) 

Have  mercy  on  us  ! 


Angel  —  devil  —  troll  — 

Or  fairy  —  if  you  be  ;  oh,  spare  my  soul ! 

I  did  but  touch  my  lips  unto  the  bowl. 

MADELEINE. 

Get  up,  for  Heaven's  sake  !     What 's  the  matter 
with  you  ?     Are  you  crazy  ?     You  look  as  if  you  'd 
come  from  a  museum.     Who  are  you,  anyway  ? 
75 


CORYDON. 

The  shepherd  Corydon,  from  yonder  vale. 
Once  I  led  sheep  across  a  grassy  dale 
Where  now  this  forest  stands, 

Alack  a  day ! 

MADELEINE. 

You  lack  a  day,  do  you  ?  If  what  you  say  is  true, 
you  lack  three  hundred  years,  my  friend  !  for  some 
of  these  trees  are  at  least  that  old !  — 

CORYDON. 
Ah,  woe  is  me  !  —  then  what  I  feared  is  true ! 

(Pause.     Emotion.) 
And  who  are  you,  good  master  —  who  are  you  ? 

MADELEINE. 

What  do  you  take  me  for  ?     I  'm  no  man,  I  'm  a 
lady  —  an  actress.    I  ?m  visiting  at  the  hall.    Bead 
that  if  you  don't  helieve  me  ! 
(Pulls  newspaper  out  of  her  pocket ;  hands  it.) 

CORYDOX. 
(Looking  astonished  at  paper  ;  holding  it  at  arm's 

length,  and  scratching  his  head) 
Nay,  hut  I  cannot  read,  but  I  should  say 
The  scribe  who  penned  it  took  full  many  a  day 
76 


And  many  a  horn  of  ink  for  such  a  screed. 
And  't  is  right  clerkly  penn'd  — 
Wilt  please  you,  read. 

MADELEINE. 
You  idiot,  this  is  n't  writing  —  it 's  printing. 

CORYDON. 
Printing  —  what  ?s  that  ?  — 

MADELEINE. 

Printing   is   the   precious   product  of  the  press 
agent.     Listen ! 

77 


(Reads.) 

"Miss  Madeleine  Young,  of  the  Pinero  Stock 
Company,    is   a   guest   at   Tafton  Hall,  for   Lady 
Scamperwell's  garden  party." 
(Stiffly.) 

I  am  the  actress. 

COBYDON. 

An  actress  —  what 's  that  ? 

MADELEINE. 
An  actress  —  a  player. 

COBYDON. 
Good   saints!     A   mummer!     Prithee,  what  d'ye 

play  — 

A  naughty  queen,  or  an  enchantress  gay, 
Or  a  pale  princess  fleeing  for  her  life, 
Or  play  you  abhess  —  or  the  doctor's  wife  ? 

MADELEINE. 
I  am  the  leading  lady. 

COBYDON. 

The  leading  lady  !     Sakes  !     What  may  you  lead  ? 
Say,  lady,  what  thrice  happy  flock  is  thine  ?  — 
A  herd  of  sheep,  mayhap,  or  geese,  or  swine. 
78 


MADELEINE. 
(Very  deliberately.) 

Well —  not  exactly,  and  yet —  But  no!  of 
course  not  —  I  mean  I  play  the  leading  parts  — 
and  keep  the  centre  of  the  stage  from  every  one 

else. 

(Pushing  him  off.) 

COR  YD  ON. 

Oh,  Marry !     Now  I  see,  you  wed  the  prince 
Who  saved  you  from  the  duke,  who  slew  the  queen 
Who  poisoned  her  stepfather,  who  seduced  — 

MADELEINE. 

Nothing  of  the  kind.  We  don't  do  any  of  those 
stupid  things  nowadays.  Besides,  it 's  comedy,  not 
tragedy. 

CORYDON. 

Ah,  then  you  play  a  pretty  shepherd  maid 
Who  loves  the  shepherd  and  the  bailiff's  son, 
And  weds  one  of  them  when  the  play  is  done ! 

MADELEINE. 

She  'd  be  more  likely  to  wed  them  both  in  our 
kind  of  play. 

(Cory don  makes  gesture  of  horror.) 
79 


CORYDON. 

Perchance  you  play  a  shrew  who  beats  her  lord, 
Who  steals  a  kid,  and  feigns  that  he  be  daft, 
And  saving  him  from  hanging,  by  your  craft, 
Live  happy  ever  after. 

MADELEINE. 

Oh,  stuff!  All  that's  changed  in  our  plays. 
The  leading  lady  is  married  in  the  first  act,  and 
falls  out  of  love  at  first  sight  in  the  second  act, 
and  in  the  third  act  is  divorced  and  lives  happy 
ever  after. 

CORYDON. 
Divorced !     What 's  that  ? 

MADELEINE. 

That  is  the  state  of  bliss  every  lady  who  truly 
and  sincerely  hates  her  lord  aspires  to  attain. 

CORYDON. 

Call  you  that  comedy  ?     It  likes  me  not. 

Where  does  the  play  come  in  —  what  do  they  plot  ? 

MADELEINE. 

The  plot !     Oh,  we  're  past  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
They  don't  do  anything  in  the  play  —  that  ?s  much 
too  simple.     In  the  first  act  they  talk  about  what 
80 


they  did  before  the  play  began.  In  the  second  act 
they  read  telegrams  from  people  who  are  doing 
things  elsewhere  —  and  in  the  last  act  — 

COR YD ON. 

I'  faith,  but  I  must  be  a  stupid  lout, 
For  I  can't  see  what  's  left  to  talk  about. 

MADELEINE. 

Why,  in  the  last  act  they  talk  about  what  they  're 
going  to  do  when  the  play  is  over. 

COBYDON. 

Sure  this  must  be  the  Age  of  Talk  —  but,  pray, 
What  precious  talk  is  this,  that  folks  will  pay 
To  hear  it  ? 

MADELEINE. 

Oh,  for  that  matter,  it  does  n't  cut  any  ice  if  they 
say  nothing  at  all,  as  long  as  they  say  it  cleverly. 

CORYDON. 

I  hate  your  prating  plays.     Once  I  did  play 

A  little  part  myself  in  a  real  play  — 

'T  would  crack  no  ice  for  you,  though,  as  you  say. 

MADELEINE. 

(Laughing  and  mocking  him  —  bowing  very  low.) 

Marry !  What  play  'd  you,  sir  —  what  might  it  be  ? 

81 


CORYDON. 

A  mystery  play  —  of  the  Nativity. 

MADELEINE. 
Who  played  the  star  part  ? 

CORYDON. 

{Reprovingly.) 

Nay,  do  not  jest,  good  lady,  e'en  in  fun, 
I  played  Third  Shepherd  in  the  place  of  one 
That  was  too  full  of  sack  his  lines  to  spell. 
They  picked  me  out  because  I  play  so  well ! 
(Proudly.) 

MADELEINE. 
So  you  were  his  understudy  ? 

CORYDON. 

I  know  not  what  you  mean,  but  this  I  know. 
They  told  me  if  a-mumming  I  would  go, 
And  con  for  years  my  lines  till  they  went  pat, 
I  'd  rise  to  be  First  Shepherd. 

MADELEINE. 

(  With  mock  enthusiasm.) 

Think   of  that !      Dear   me !      How   could  you 
refuse  such  a  brilliant  offer  ? 
82 


CORYDON. 

'T  is  a  long  story,  and  as  dull  to  thee 
As  any  nineteenth-century  play  to  me, 


MADELEINE. 

Or  one  of  your  stuffy  old  mystery  plays  to  me, 
for  that  matter. 

{Looking  at  her  watch.) 

Great  Heavens  !  It 's  four  o'clock.  We  give  a 
performance  this  afternooon  at  Lady  Scamperwell's 
garden  party  on  the  lawn  at  five  o'clock,  and  I  Jve 
just  time  to  get  over  and  dress.  I  'm  quite  charmed 
to  have  met  you.  It  is  really  wonderful  —  I  can 
scarcely  helieve  you  are  real  —  by  the  way,  perhaps 
you  Jd  like  to  see  the  play  ? 
(Takes  card  out  of  her  porte-monnaie  and  writes.) 

Present  this  card  at  the  lodge.  The  villagers 
will  all  he  there,  and  you  may  meet  some  of  your 
descendants  —  and  you  will  see  a  play  after  your 
own  heart! 

CORYDON. 

Eight  gladly  will  I  go  —  tho'  I  be  shamed 
Of  my  torn  frock.    What  may  the  play  be  named  ? 
83 


MADELEINE. 

We   are   going   to   do  "As  You  Like  It,"  by 
William  Shakespeare. 

(  With  a  flourish.) 
Be  sure  and  come.     Good-bye ! 
(Exit  Madeleine.) 

CORYDON. 

(Thoughtfully.) 

By  William  Shakespeare,  who  may  he  be  ?  Nay, 

JT  is  like  enough  some  mawkish  modern  play. 

There  was  no  William  Shakespeare  (sceptically) 
in  my  day. 

The  play  is  "  As  I  Like  It."     Says  she  so  ? 

By  all  the  saints  how  doth  the  lady  know  ?  (Mus- 
ingly. ) 

Marry !  I  '11  go,  in  sooth,  that  I  may  wot 

If  she  speaks  true.     ( With  a  shrug.) 

Mayhap,  I  '11  like  it  not  !  (Exit.) 


84 


CURTAIN  CALLS 


85 


THE  EXPLANATION 

THE  WANDERING  JEW 

HORACE 

JONAH 

LADY  MACBETH 

GODIVA 
DESDEMONA 

EVE 
CLEOPATRA 


86 


THE  EXPLANATION 

I  DREAMED  I  cast  a  Pebble  in  a  Pond 

That  stretched  to  the  Horizon  and  Beyond, 

Making  a  Ripple  that  my  Fancy  took 

To  be  the  Circulation  of  my  Book. 

And  as  the  Circle  wide  and  wider  spread, 

It  passed  the  Limit  of  Things  Limited, 

Until  the  Ripple  from  my  Pebble  cast 

Had  waxed  a  Mighty  Wave,  that  swelling  fast 

Broke  presently,  and  Overflowed  the  Past; 

And  Then  I  dreamed  came  to  me  shoals  on  shoals 

Of  Complimentary  Letters  from  Great  Souls, 

Praising  my  Book. —  Of  These  a  Choice  Selection, 

Reader,  I  now  present  for  your  Inspection. 


87 


THE  WANDERING  JEW 

No  Living  Soul  can  testify 
With  such  authority  as  I 
Upon  the  Weariness  and  Ache 
Of  Walking  just  for  Walking's  sake; 
But  ever  since  I  undertook 
To  be  the  Agent  of  your  Book, 
And  travelled  for  the  sake  of  Trade, 
I  Ve  felt  like  quite  a  different  Shade. 
Indeed,  I  have  at  last  begun 
To  wish  my  journey  never  donej 
88 


Both  for  your  good  Book's  sake  and  mine ; 
Love  and  Percent.  I  thus  combine  — 
And  that  reminds  me  — 

I  enclose 

My  statement  for  the  month,  which  shows 
The  net  subscriptions  up  to  date 
(With  Discount  at  the  usual  rate). 
Among  subscribers  you  '11  perceive 
The  names  of  Cleopatra,  Eve, 
Lady  Godiva,  Horace,  Jonah, 
Lady  Macbeth  and  Desdemona. 
They  all  send  testimonials  too, 
More  later  —  until  then,  adieu. 

p.s. 

I  have  (I  trust  with  your  consent) 
Deducted  sixty-five  per  cent. 


89 


HORACE 

"HERE'S   to  you!"    as   you   moderns   say  when 

drinking, 

And  ?t  is  a  vast  improvement,  to  my  thinking, 
On  spilling  precious  liquor  on  the  sod, 
For  fear  of  angering  some  thirsty  god. 
Here  Js  to  your  Book —  It  cannot  fail  to  bring 
Pleasure  to  such  as  like  that  kind  of  thing; 
90 


Fairies  and  Flowers,  Curlycues  and  quirls. 

For  my  part,    though   (don't  think   me   Pig   mid 

Pearls), 

To  tell  the  truth,  I  rather  miss  the  girls. 
De  gustibus  .  .   .  / 

Leastways  the  Cover  's  showy, 
I  think  I  '11  pass  my  copy  on  to  Chloe. 


91 


JONAH 

EN  ROUTE 

IT  is  the  Third  Day  Out  —  or  (if  you  pin 
Me  strictly  to  the  Truth)  the  Third  Day  In. 
All  day  the  Sea  tempestuous  has  wrought, 
And  yet  I  don't  feel  lonesome  as  I  ought, 
When  I  consider  that  I  am  the  one 
And  only  passenger  aboard,  with  none 
To  tell  me  Stories  older  than  the  Sun, 
92 


Or  make  me  wagers  on  the  Daily  Run, 
Or,  if  exclusively  inclined,  to  shun. 
It  happened  thiswise :  once  I  took  a  ship 
For  Tarshish,  and,  to  read  upon  the  Trip, 
Had  brought  your  Little  Book  of  Garden  Lore, 
Upon  the  which  I  set  exceeding  store. 
Now  as  I  read,  lost  in  a  happy  dream, 
There  waxed  a  sea  that  smote  upon  our  beam 
With  such  a  smite  that  every  one  was  floored ; 
My  precious  Little  Book  went  Overboard, 
And  I  leaped  after,  of  my  own  accord. 

I  saved  my  Book,  and  rose  in  time  to  hail 

This  very  opportunely  passing  Whale, 

Within  whose  dim  Cetacean  Saloon 

I  find  my  solitude  a  Precious  Boon ; 

For  as  I  read  your  "  Garden  "  o'er  and  o'er, 

I  care  not  if  I  never  reach  the  Shore. 


93 


LADY  MACBETH 

SINCE  ?t  is  by  every  one  agreed, 
To  say  that  He  who  runs  may  read  ; 
Then  she  who  walks,  though  with  less  haste, 
The  joys  of  Literature  may  taste. 
So  I  who  pace  this  spectral  floor, 
Doing  my  perpetual  encore 
Of  Life's  Performance  o'er  and  o'er, 
In  moments  spare,  however  brief, 
Turn  to  your  "  Garden  "  for  relief 
94 


From  gore  and  ghosts  with  fearful  eyes,- 

To  Cupids,  Bees,  and  Butterflies, 

And  Roses,  who  revive  in  me 

The  Hope  that  some  day  I  may  be 

By  their  exotic  exorcism, 

Quite  cured  of  my  somnambulism. 


95 


GODIVA 

"I  WAITED  for  the  Train  at  Coventry/' 

The  Train  was  several  hundred  years  too  late 

(It  had  not  been  invented  yet,  you  see) ; 

Such  is  the  Cold  Cast  Irony  of  Fate. 

At  last  the  Train  arrived,  and  with  it  too 

Your  Book — a  Precious  Package  marked  "collect.  " 

Raptured   I    read   it    through   and    through,    and 

through, 

And  then  I  paused  in  sadness  to  reflect  — 
96 


How  that  same  Book  had  been  a  priceless  boon, 
But  for  a  little  accident  of  Date ; 
If  only  I  had  not  been  born  so  soon. 
Or  if  you  had  not  gone  to  press  so  late. 
0  Book,  if  only  you  had  come  to  me 
Ere  I  rode  forth  upon  that  morning  sad ! 
In  naught  but  Faith  and  Hope  and  Charity, 
And  other  Vague  Abstractions  thinly  clad ; 
In  whole  Editions  I  would  have  invested 
(I  hope  you  get  good  Royalties  therefrom), 
To  keep  the  naughty  townfolk  interested, 
And  most  Particularly,  Peeping  Tom. 


97 


DESDEMONA 

DEAR  Mr.  Author,  I  make  bold 
To  send  you  greeting,  as  an  old 
Admirer  from  beyond  the  Styx. 
I  love  your  book !  (I  ordered  Six  /) 
Will  you  believe  me  when  I  write 
Your  verses  saved  my  life  this  night  ? 
?T  was  thus  (but  first  I  ought  to  say, 
In  Hades  we  enact  each  day 


Life's  Tragedy,  as  in  a  Play 

That  has  no  ending)  :    well,  to-day, 

When  we  came  to  the  final  act, 

I  introduced  with  cunning  tact 

Some  extracts  from  your  charming  Book. 

I  wish  you  'd  seen  Othello's  look 

Grow  soft  —  and  when  he  came  to  do 

The  Deed  —  lo,  he  forgot  his  Cue, 

Ending  the  scene,  oh,  bliss  of  blisses, 

By  smothering  me  instead  with  kisses ! 


99 


EVE 

0  DEAR  !  I  cannot  choose  but  write 
To  tell  you  of  the  Pure  Delight 
Your  Little  Book  has  given  me. 
While  reading  it  I  seem  to  be 
Transported  in  your  Fancy's  train, 
To  my  own  Garden  once  again. 
Ah  me  !  whenever  I  recall 
That  Fatal  Morning  of  the  Fall, 
100 


Of  One  Thing  quite  convinced  I  am; 
Had  I  that  day,  as  Old  Khayyam, 
A  Book  of  Verses  'neath  the  Bough, 
I  'd  be  in  Paradise  e'en  now. 
With  your  Sweet  Book  to  entertain, 
The  Serpent  might  have  talked  in  vain ; 
For  is  not  Curiosity 
The  naughty  Daughter  of  Ennui? 

Yet,  but  for  my  bite  into  the  Unknown, 
Meseems  your  "  Garden  "  never  could  have  grown. 


101 


CLEOPATRA 

How  sharper  than  a  Serpent's  tooth 
It  is  to  have  a  Thankless  child. 

WHO  wrote  those  lines,  I  wonder;    was  it  you  ? 
For  if  it  was,  you  know  a  Thing  or  Two 
About  a  Serpent.     No,  I  must  decline 
Discussing  children,  they  Jre  not  in  my  line; 
102 


As  for  the  Serpent,  I  '11  vouch  &>r  the  truth 
Of  all  you  say  ahout  a  Serpent's  Tooth. 
I  've  felt  his  Fang,  I  know  its  deadly  smart; 
Also  I  know  your  Little  Book  by  Heart ; 
And  so  I  pray  this  offspring  of  your  Brain 
May  be  a  Thankful  Child,  and  bring  much  gain. 


103 


Some  take  their  gold 

In  minted  mold, 
And  some  in  Harps  hereafter  ; 

But  give  me  mine 

In  Tresses  fine, 
And  keep  the  change  in  Laughter. 


104 


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